


Gods and Spirits, Spirits and Gods

by ravenclawkohai



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M, Shaman AU, Shamanism, Spirits, Witch AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-08-24 01:13:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16630064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenclawkohai/pseuds/ravenclawkohai
Summary: Cloud Strife is a shaman trying to scrape together a living in Midgar, and Sephiroth comes to him with his ghost problem.





	1. Chapter 1

               To say that Cloud was having a hard time getting customers was an understatement. He was considering rebranding, even though he’d done that a half-dozen times with little success. The fact of the matter was that Midgar wasn’t _interested_ in—whatever he was. He’d tried advertising as a shaman, because that was what they called people like him in Nibelheim. Then he’d tried spirit worker, then witch, warlock, medium. He was resisting taking the final step to “psychic.” He hated the word. There were plenty of psychics in the city, but that was a performance-based art. Being a psychic was a testament to being able to read people. It was picking apart clues from clothes to body language to scraps of conversation they weren’t meant to listen to in order to put together the perfect reading. It was giving a customer what they wanted with the appropriate amount of drama and flair. It was constructing a reading that was so vague there was no way for it to be wrong.

               It was immoral.

               Besides, even if he wanted to, the spirits would never let him. This was the cost of their aid; he had to play by their rules. When he’d begun his work all those years ago, still holding onto his mother’s apron-strings while she taught him their craft, it had seemed like a fair deal. And, of course, the spirits had no moral problems with taking the word of a child and making damn sure they held him to it. He’d learned everything he could from his mother and was happy with the work—until he wasn’t. Until she died, and everything seemed unfair and cruel. When she had been sick, the spirits tried to prepare him for it. His ancestors told him that this was the way of the world, that no one lives forever. Odin told him that death was sacred in its own way and that his mother was moving on to her next adventure. He’d thought he was ready for it until it came, until she died and he came apart at the seams.

               He’d tried to renege on a lot of agreements during that time. He stopped making his offerings. He’d given up on his taboos, all the little rules the spirits gave him about how to live his life. He pretended not to see the consequences of those actions. He pretended that it wasn’t the spirits giving him his due when the town turned on him, when they seemed to sense the spirit’s lack of protection over him and let the children of the town beat him in the streets. When the butcher began up-charging him so much he had to turn entirely to hunting and gathering. When Tifa, the only one in town brave enough to befriend the shaman-in-training, turned her back on him. When the mayor found some obscure, long-lost law that let him repossess the home that was all Cloud had left.

               The spirits took everything from him.

               He’d tried to wander his way to Cosmo Canyon, where he knew they had similar practices, and hoped someone would take him in for the craft he’d turned his back on, at least to get his foot in the door. He didn’t even make it that far before it came. The shaman sickness, something his mother had tried to help him avoid. When the gods decided someone was to be a shaman, there wasn’t a way to say no. You did the work or you died—that’s how it was. His gods weren’t gentle ones. He’d thought that by choosing the path, he could avoid the sickness that forced one to touch death. Shaman sickness killed, every time. It was just that, if you were strong enough, if you were meant to, if it was in your blood, you tended to come back. But he’d never been comfortable banking on that, so he’d chosen the path, until he turned his back on it.

               The sickness caught up to him on the road. He wasn’t even sure exactly where he was when it came. He remembered the fever, the chills, the shaking and weakness.

               And then he remembered waking up in the back of a rattling truck.

               He’d sat up, sweaty and shivering, but awake, and looked around. They were passing through wide grasslands of some sort. He pulled down the blanket that covered him and scooted back on trembling arms to knock weakly at the truck’s back window, watching as the man driving jumped in his seat.

               The man who found him on the side of the road had taken care of him as best he could, but had been sure he’d end up with a corpse in the back of his trunk. He’d just hoped to get to Midgar, his destination, quick enough to find a hospital for him before he passed. Cloud had followed the man to the city, mostly because he had nowhere else to go. All he knew was that it was time to take up his old agreements and hope the ire of the spirits had passed with the sickness.

               Those early days of homelessness had been hard. It had been Cloud finding scraps of food out of trash cans, selling recyclables to buy milk and honey to give to the gods and spirits. They told him that they would wait, that he didn’t need to give them anything until he had something within his means to give, but at that point he was afraid. It had taken a stern talking to from Odin to get him to drop the practice with the reminder that they had survived without his offerings before and could again. He continued to offer prayer, but it was the best he could do.

               Eventually, the spirit of Midgar took pity on him. The spirit, a man with dark hair in a sharp suit, had come to him with a look of both pity and annoyance and laid one hand over the rune stones in his pocket, the last thing he had from home.

               “Do readings. People will pay for them.”

               It was arguably the best advice he’d ever gotten.

               So he set up on a little corner in the slums, sitting on his blanket and hawking until someone sat down across from him. He cast the stones and read them, accurate and true, and never once got a repeat customer. No one liked his readings—they hit too close to home. No one liked to be told that the cause of their problems was something they were avoiding, or putting off, or a behavior they could change but just didn’t want to, or that they had to give up something they weren’t ready to yield yet. But he was dutiful. The spirits, usually the customer’s ancestors or Midgar himself, told him the truth, and it was his job to relay it. They never came back, but they gave him his gil before they left, and that was what mattered.

               Until, eventually, very late at night, right before he was ready to wrap his dirty blanket around his shoulders and curl up to sleep, a woman came up to him.

               “What are you selling?” she asked. She had a basket on her arms with a few stray flowers and a rattling of coin in the bottom. Cloud looked up at her, took in her pink dress and soft eyes, and felt a swelling. It took him far too long to answer because that swelling just wouldn’t crest. Eventually, finally it did, the overwhelming pressure of the spirits’ interest in her fading enough that he could speak.

               “I read the future, miss. I could tell you yours. Just a gil.”

               “A gil? You should charge a little more,” she said, even as she sat down.

               Cloud unfolded a clean, delicately embroidered cloth. On it was a tree with a smattering of worlds across its branches and tangled in its roots. He laid it out carefully and smoothed it before pulling out his quartz runes, long since rubbed smooth with use.

               “I’d love to, but I charge what people will pay. Is there a question you want answered?”

               She hummed and twisted the ends of her hair around a finger.

               “How about… how do I help my business?”

               _Propitiate the spirit of Midgar; he has a soft spot for aspiring business owners. He likes white rum._ He didn’t say it, but it was on the tip of his tongue. He’d learned quickly that suggesting offerings made customers leave.

               Delicately, he pulled three runes from the worn leather bag in his hands and laid them face down on the cloth. He flipped them over, one by one.

               “Berkana. You began your business to help a female relative and still use the funds to help her. It’s a worthy pursuit, one the spirits approve of. Take care of your family.

               “Nauthiz. You began to help this relative, but you’re doing it now because you need the money. Pretty badly, by the looks of it. This has become your sole source of income and it’s not doing as well as you’d like.

               He flipped the last over and felt his stomach sink when he saw that it was blank. He closed his eyes for a moment and drew in a breath.

               _Well, it’s not like she was going to come back again anyway. You might as well say it_.

               “Wyrd. The state of your business is out of your hands. It’s in the spirits’ hands. They’ll determine whether or not it will fail or succeed. If it’s mean to be, it will. If—… well, if you want to nudge things in your favor, try giving them some offerings. Pick who you’d like, but I’d recommend the spirit of Midgar. He likes white rum, if you can afford it, but he’ll accept cheap beer. Make sure it’s cheap though, nothing artisan. He’s specific about that.”

               There was a long pause, where, with every breath, Cloud expected her to get up and storm off without paying him. Instead, she watched him closely. Very closely. As she stared, there was the pressure rising. It wasn’t the familiar press of the spirits, but something in the energy felt familiar. Something dead, like the ancestors. Something fecund, like Earth Mother Jord. It was odd, but it pressed very close to him, before falling away abruptly. The woman smiled.

               “You really do talk to spirits, don’t you?”

               Cloud watched her suspiciously.

               “… Yes.”

               She stood and fished out a gil from her basket. She handed it to him, and once he pocketed it, held her hand out again. He looked up at her in confusion.

               “Come on. You shouldn’t be out here.”

               “If it’s all the same to you, I’m good.” Something in him wanted to trust her, but it went against common sense to wander off with a stranger, no matter how sweet she looked.

               She smiled at him.

               “I have spirits, too, and they want me to bring you home with me. Maybe you can ask yours if you don’t believe me?”

               He paused, eyeing her, but eventually shut his eyes. The second he opened himself up, there was a rush of _yesyesyes_. He didn’t need more than that. He opened his eyes and carefully refolded the embroidered cloth to put it with his runes back in his pocket. He then took her hand and stood, gathering up his blanket as he went.

               He didn’t have to live on the street after that.

               Aeris and her mother took him in happily. Aeris was happy to have someone who understood and didn’t think she was crazy, her mother was happy that her daughter had someone to relate to. They let him stay with them and he was still, to this day, staying with them.

               Now that he had access to food and shelter, he was free to change. He began charging more, one extra gil for any additional stones after the first three. He was able to leave out offerings again, able to leave them outside on the _grass_. He missed Sunna and Mani, the sun and the moon, from his place below the plate, but he still offered to them, still prayed to them. He didn’t forget them, and they didn’t forget him.

               Eventually, he built up his practice. It took years, but he saved up enough to rent out a ratty little storefront. He made friends with the owners of the nearby occult shops where he bought the herbs he needed and they referred new customers to him. Aeris helped him with his rebranding when it came time for that. He struggled to get clients still, but he could rely on the owners of those other stores to send people his way. Always, always there were people who were trying to get real readings who went through psychic shop after psychic shop, finding no help there. They’d go to the occult stores and vent their exhaustion, or ask for help, where they’d be passed off to him. Those customers, even though they often disliked him after their readings, they knew he actually did the work instead of playacting. They referred their friends and came back themselves when they needed it. It worked, it gave him enough to continue affording the rent for the storefront and let him contribute to the household’s food cost, as well as the cost of his offerings. He was even able to rebuild his altars after time.

               Which was all well and good, but it left him here, staring out the storefront’s window, waiting tiredly for someone to wander in.

               He spent a lot of time staring out that window.

               He couldn’t say how many times he’d reorganized the shop out of sheer boredom. Sometimes he prayed at the little altars he had in the store. Sometimes he meditated. Sometimes he spoke to the spirits. But always, always it was slow, and he spent a lot of his time alone, waiting for someone to come in.

               Still, there was always a little rush of excitement when a customer came. Usually, there was at least one spirit around who let him know someone was coming, and he had a chance to prepare himself, but even when they came in without warning, he felt that burst of energy.

               _Finally_.

               It was no different this time. He got a brief brush of a warning (“Incoming,”), and looked up in time to see his door being pushed in, and his heart stuttered.

               He’d never seen someone so handsome.

               He’d _definitely_ never seen someone so handsome _in here_.

               But he shoved that aside quickly and smiled up at the man. The very, very handsome man. How did he even get his hair to look that nice?

               No, focus.

               “Hi, can I help you?”

               “Are you Cloud? The medium?” the man said, his deep voice smooth and even. Cloud fought back a shiver.

               And then he looked closer at the shiver.

               And then he focused on the shadow that laid wrong over the man’s shoulder.

               Damn, he really was distracted if he didn’t notice it before.

               Still, something in him found time to be grate at the word “medium.”

               “I am. You’re in a bit of a tight spot, aren’t you?” Cloud said, standing up, still staring over the silver-haired man’s shoulder.

               “I—Yes, I am. How did you know?”

               “Well, most people don’t come here unless they are, but yours is a bit obvious. Let me guess, there have been disturbances at home? Things moving on their own? Sounds you can’t explain?”

               “… Yes, actually.”

               Cloud hummed, walking around the counter and up to the man. He stood on his toes to squint over the man’s shoulder. The energy around the man was all wrong. His own energy wasn’t surrounding him at all, and his spirit body was halfway out of his flesh body, sucked backward toward the shadow. Cloud frowned. He held up a hand.

               “What are you—”

               “Hush.”

               Cloud hovered his hand around the shadow, feeling its strong aura of power, the way it vibrated wrong. It twitched back away from his hand.

               “I have good and bad news.”

               “How do you have any news? You haven’t asked me anything yet.”

               “Mister…?”

               The man paused, confused. He seemed baffled that Cloud didn’t recognize him.

               “Sephiroth. No mister, please.”

               “Sephiroth, you came to me for a reason, and I’d like to think you were referred here because I’m good at my job. Will you let me do it?”

               Sephiroth frowned, refusing to be chastised, but took the correction. He nodded as Cloud pulled his hand away from the shadow.

               “You’ve got a spirit attached to you. A nasty one, at that. It’s trying to pull your spirit body from your physical one. It’s probably try trying to feed off it.”

               Sephiroth’s face was colored incredulous. He didn’t even answer.

               Cloud sighed and shrugged.

               “Look, you don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to, so here’s what we’ll do,” Cloud said as he rounded the counter to return to his stool. He rested one elbow on the glass counter and propped his chin in his hand. “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, you’re going to leave here still not believing me, then you’ll come back later when you believe me, and I’ll take care of this thing for you. How does that sound?”

               “… Like you’re bullshitting me, to be honest.”

               Cloud laughed, sharp and bark-like.

               “Not the first time I’ve heard that,” he said with a smile. “So, what’s going to happen. You’ll go home, and the disturbances will have stopped. The spirit can’t hear us, but she can feel my energy. She knows what I am, so she knows what I’ll try to do.”

               “She?”

               “The spirit is female. Don’t interrupt.”

               “How do you know?”

               “Her energy reads female. Stop interrupting.” Cloud paused, making sure he’d stay silent, and then continued. “She’s going to try to pretend like going here rid you of her to try and lull you into a false sense of security. I don’t suggest you let that happen, but I expect it will, no matter what I tell you. She’ll wait a while to convince you, and then things will come back, worse than they were. If things haven’t been violent yet, they will be. Broken items, things flying across the room aimed suspiciously near to you, scratches, bites, the works. If you have anything dangerous in your home, knives or firearms, I suggest you get rid of them before this starts, but I doubt you’ll do that. While this is happening and likely progressively getting worse, you’ll start feeling hazy. Distant. It’ll be like watching a movie or moving through a dream, you’ll feel just a breath removed from your skin. Your reaction time will slow, so I don’t suggest you drive. You’ll have difficulty concentrating. Eventually, you’ll realize that everything I’m describing is happening, and then you’ll come back, and I’ll fix things. Does that make sense?”

               “No, none of this makes sense, at all.”

               Cloud sighed.

               “Let me rephrase: am I clear?”

               “Crystal,” Sephiroth grumbled.

               “Now. I’m going to give you a little motivation. If you let me take care of this now, it’s 100 gil—I know that’s steep, but this will be a big undertaking, and judging by your clothes, you can afford it,” Cloud said as he stood and crossed to a calendar hanging on the wall, grabbing a pen as he went. He scrawled Sephiroth’s name on the little square representing today. “Every week you wait, my price goes up 100 more gil.” He crossed back to his stool and sat back down, folding his arms on the counter. “So I recommend you come to your senses quickly. Unless you’d like me to handle this now?”

               Sephiroth wrinkled his nose, turned on his heel, and stormed from the store. Cloud sighed as he went. He glanced over at his ancestor shrine, where he could feel his mother’s energy radiating amusement, and saw her perched on the little altar.

               “I tried, okay?”

               _I know you did, Cloud. There’s nothing else you could do about it._

               “Then what’s so funny?”

               _Your little price stunt, for one—no, don’t, I’m not mad about it, it’s fair. Mostly, though, it’s that you’re_ clearly _smitten with him_.

               “Smitt—I’m not _smitten_ with him!”

               A smug, knowing look came to her face.

               _Cloud, I know you. You’re smitten._

               “Mama, we’ve had this conversation, I don’t need you pressing me to find a boyfriend.”

               _You can deny it all you want, but we both know you’re interested_.

               “Even if I wanted to—which I don’t!—I can’t date a _client_. That’s unprofessional.”

               _If we were still home, the entire village would be your client. Are you telling me you wouldn’t date at all?_

               “Shaman aren’t even supposed to date.”

               _The line has to be carried on somehow. Odin ordered it._

               “I can’t carry on the line with another man anyway.”

               _You could adopt. It would still count. The important thing is that you raise your child in our ways._

               “Children are just not on the table right now, Mama.

               _Yet._

               “Gods, but you’re insufferable sometimes.”

               She laughed brightly, and Cloud sighed, but stood. He crossed to the shrine and pulled out a piece of juniper incense, lighting it for her; it was her favorite, and it would cleanse the shop of any remnants of that spirit’s energy. She took a deep breath in and smiled. She ruffled his hair.

               _Be gentle with that boy. He’ll be in quite a state when he comes back._

               “I know. I wish he would have let me take care of it. I didn’t like the feeling of that spirit. The energy was all wrong.”

               _There’s nothing else you could have done about it. Be patient; he’ll be back._

               Cloud folded his arms and dropped his weight into his hip, letting his head tilt to one side.

               “I’m not sure if I hope it’s soon or not. I want to handle this quickly, but at the same time, it wouldn’t be bad if he let me drive the price up. I could use the money.”

               She laughed again and leaned back on her hands.

               _He’ll come when he’s meant to. Accept what price it ends up being._

               “Not much else to do for it, huh?”

               _Nope. Now, how about you go work on that drum of yours? I get the feeling you’ll need it for this one._

               He sighed and walked toward the back where he’d stored the drum; he was still in the process of painting the head.

               He had the sneaking suspicion that she was right.


	2. Chapter 2

               Sephiroth left Cloud’s shop feeling a fool.

               The blond had read him like a book and given some cheap prediction before rattling off prices (which were frankly dirt cheap, despite what Cloud himself had said; he’d bought more expensive potions before). He’d known going in that he was approaching an expert in a subject that he had little to no knowledge in, but he didn’t appreciate having his nose rubbed in how uneducated he was. He understood objectively that, well, Cloud must have seen dozens of cases like his, but he was close enough to this problem that having it treated like it was so common stung.

               Still.

               He’d gone to Cloud because, according to everything he could find, he was the best in Midgar. He didn’t seem to know his reputation, based on his prices, but it was still there. Oh, it was hard to find, to be sure. If you wanted the best psychic, you got a very different list. If you wanted a paranormal investigator, also a very different list. But if you went in to occult specialists with a spirit problem, there was one place they sent you.

               No one seemed to quite know where Cloud had come from. One day he just sprung out of the ground in that ratty little hole in the wall of his and began out-performing everyone else. If you wanted spirit work or truly old, traditional magic, you went to Cloud. He’d heard the blond called a lot of things: medium, shaman, spirit worker, psychopomp. He’d had to ask for explanations for what exactly those terms meant, because his understanding for the first two was dramatic actor and rattle-shaker respectively, and he had no real guess as to the latter. He was discovering that there was an entire world out there for the paranormal beyond ghost television shows where hapless men wandered into severely haunted areas with cameras.

               To be honest, Sephiroth hadn’t even believed in spirits until he’d come across his own. He was, hard and fast, a man of science. He believed what there was hard proof of, what there was evidence of, and nothing else. There were just too many ways to explain away all the “evidence” of paranormal activity for him to give it much credence.

               And then it happened to him.

               It began with footsteps on the floor above him, which was odd, because he was on the highest floor. Still, there was a helicopter pad up there, and maintenance men came and went. It was odd in its surprising frequency, but didn’t really ring an alarm bells.

               Then doors began to move on their own. Again, odd, but the windows were open sometimes. If it was too hot for that, the AC was on, and if it was too cold for that, the heat was on. Either way, air was moving in his apartment. It was strange that it hadn’t happened before, but maybe it had, and he just hadn’t noticed.

               Then he started getting knocks on his door. When it was the front door, it was weird, because every time he checked the door, no one was there. When it was his bedroom door, or the bathroom door, it was weirder, because he didn’t really have an explanation. He assumed he was mishearing and wrote it off.

               He started catching snippets of conversation, voices he could hear but not make out. He checked the hallways a few times, but there was never anyone there. He didn’t have any neighbors except a few apartments across the hall, but no one he shared a wall with. He wrote it off as conversation coming through the air ducts. Maybe they were doing work on them.

               He became slightly concerned when Masamune began falling off its mounting. That sword had never fallen before. There was no way for it _to_ fall. That mounting had been carefully constructed and had a hook shaped lip that came up on the edge to keep the sword in place. It had to be lifted out or, at worst, knocked out of place physically from underneath. This, this he had no explanation for. He told himself that maybe the building had shook in some way to bump it out of place, but he didn’t really believe it.

               He was content to continue ignoring it despite the steadily increasing frequency of all of these events until he couldn’t anymore. Which happened one day when he’d come back from his office and hung Masamune in its place and turned around just in time to watch as the remote control flew off the table, aimed directly at his head. It was a simple matter to duck, but even he couldn’t deny that.

               So he went to the most superstitious person he knew.

               “Dude, you’re haunted.”

               “Zackary, _what_?”

               Zack shrugged, leaning back on the couch, safely within his own apartment, a floor beneath Sephiroth’s allegedly haunted one.

               “Everything you’ve just told me? Classic haunting. You’ve got a ghost, my friend, and things will only get worse from here.”

               “Ghosts aren’t real, Zack.”

               “Like hell they aren’t, Sephiroth.”

               “If this is more Gongagan superstition—”

               “Oh shut up, you came here because you needed someone superstitious and we both know it.”

               Zack stood and walked to his counter and began rummaging in his junk drawer.

               “Perhaps. Say you’re right. What then?”

               “Well, if you’d come to me with this earlier, I’d have just gotten my sage and done your apartment myself—don’t look at me like that, my place is clean of spirits because I take care of it, alright? Too many people have died in the Infirmary or suffered in the Science Department for this building not to be haunted. I tried to talk you into letting me cleanse your place a long time ago, but you wouldn’t hear it.”

               “I remember, thank you, and I-told-you-so’s are unbecoming.”

               “You’re only saying that because you’re wrong.”

               “Focus, Zack.”

               “Right. At this point, we’re beyond your average sage-ing. There are a few other tricks I know in case of a pinch, but I think we’re beyond those at this point. We’ll need a professional.”

               “A _professional_? There are _professionals_?”

               Zack gave him a withering look before resuming his search.

               “Of course there are. Someone has to clear up hauntings. In Gongaga, we used to have at least one spirit worker per generation. That died out a few generations back, but the practice was recent enough that we’ve still got some sense of what to do. There was a really nasty one when I was a kid—we had to bring someone in from Cosmo Canyon. I’m not sure—oh, here it is!”

               Zack crossed over to hand Sephiroth a little business card. _Third Eye._ Sephiroth had to keep from rolling his eyes.

               “Try asking there; it’s where I get my sage. They ought to know someone to refer you to,” Zack said, sitting down across from Sephiroth again. “Now, you _don’t_ want a psychic. Psychics usually just do divination readings, and most of them are fake anyway. Ask for a medium, that’ll work better. You wanna stay here until it gets sorted out?”

               Sephiroth fingered the card absently and shook his head with a little puff of laughter.

               “I’m not going to be removed from my home by flying remote controllers.”

               “Yeah, well, it starts throwing anything more dangerous, you’ve got a place here.”

               “I appreciate the offer, Zack. Thank you.”

               Third Eye was exactly as tacky as Sephiroth had imagined it. There were large displays of crystals and incense and candles and herbs, a glass case of tarot cards and rune stones, elaborate statues, and a “wishing well” built out of a large electronic water fountain with a statue of a fairy mounted on top and a smattering of pennies across the bottom. It smelled heavily, almost cloyingly, of incense, though Sephiroth couldn’t find where they were burning it. He wandered around the store, trying to get a feel of the place and decide if he wanted their advice at all. He decided that no, no he did not, but he also knew that he didn’t really have many options.

               The woman at the counter, old and frazzled, was of little help. After her initial reaction, wherein she called him “dear” far too many times, she proceeded to give him an exceedingly long list of contacts, but ended in her top recommendation of “the medium, Cloud Strife.”

               Still, he wasn’t one to be content with that much, especially not from so unreliable a source. So instead, he went home and (ignoring loud footsteps from above) researched nearby occult shops. He ended up going to a plethora, many of which looking remarkably like the first, and got a wide array of recommendations, but most included this Cloud Strife on the list. He’d gotten his bland, poorly designed business card the most.

               He tried researching him online, but found absolutely nothing. He wasn’t sure if the lack of a website was good (authenticity, perhaps?) or bad. It certainly wasn’t in his favor that the storefront was in the bowels of the slums. But then again, maybe that meant that he wasn’t a scam artist taking advantage of the whimsy of the rich. There was no way to know but to go.

               So go he did. And he immediately regretted it. No amount of recommendation was worth a smart mouth with nothing to back it up.

               He had been very firm on that point when he discussed it with Zack.

               Who hadn’t been on his side.

               “I don’t know, Sephiroth, I don’t think it was attitude for attitude’s sake. I think he’s probably seen a lot of guys with ghost problems that don’t believe in the paranormal and has gotten a lot of shit from them.”

               “That’s no reason to take an attitude with a customer.”

               “Isn’t it though? It kinda sounds like you went in acting like you knew more about his job than he did. You wouldn’t do that to a plumber.”

               “Those aren’t comparable.”

               “Aren’t they?”

               “I don’t need to ask a plumber a thousand questions to believe in the workings of pipes.”

               “It’s not his fault that you don’t believe.”

               “Still.”

               Zack held his hands up and leaned back.

               “Either way, you have your next step, right? Go home and see if things turn out how he says. If they do, go back, if not, we find someone else. Just try and figure out if you believe him before too long. I don’t doubt that his price really will go up.”

               Sephiroth, begrudgingly, did just that.

               Considering that the haunting had built up slowly, Sephiroth hadn’t quite noticed how much activity there was until it was suddenly absent. The apartment suddenly felt much, much too quiet. He hadn’t realized how many times he’d been absent-mindedly shutting doors and cabinets that mysteriously opened.

               He wasn’t sure if he was happy or not that the activity was gone. On the one hand, this had been the goal in the first place. On the other, Cloud’s prediction had him tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

               A week passed. He was very aware now that he was up to 200 gil; he thought about it every time he realized how silent his apartment was. He was beginning to get confident that things really had passed when he began to feel strange. Like everything was foggy, like he was surrounded in cotton. He felt like he was watching his life, not actually living it.

               Another week. 300 gil. The feeling hadn’t gotten any better; in fact, it had gotten worse. He hadn’t placed the odd experience until his reaction time was so slow Zack landed a hit that actually sent him to the Infirmary, much to Zack’s distress (he’d thought he’d block it in time). It was then that he remembered Cloud’s prediction. His spiritual body separating from the flesh. It had sounded like such nonsense. It _still_ sounded like nonsense. But there was a delay between his thought and his action now, and his description of what it would feel like was eerily accurate. It wasn’t enough for him to go back.

               Another week. 400 gil. It was halfway through that week when things got worse. It was Thursday night when he got home to find every door and cabinet, even the dishwasher, ajar. He’d narrowed his eyes at the doors in a silent standoff, but eventually just began closing them; there was nothing else to do about it. He knew in his gut what this was, but he was hoping that maybe Zack was playing a prank. He was ready to leave it at that until the night, where it sounded like a marathon was being run on the roof. His door handle kept rattling. Eventually, his bed began to shake.

               Eventually, he shouted, “Enough!”

               Surprisingly, it worked. It worked right until he woke in the middle of the night with a shadowy figure standing above him, pressing down on his chest. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.

               It passed after a time. He settled back down to sleep, telling himself it was a strange bout of sleep paralysis, nothing more.

               Things continued like that for the next few days, neither improving nor getting worse. He began spending more and more time at his office or in Zack’s apartment. If Zack gave him knowing looks, he just ignored them.

               Another week. 500 gil. He came to a breaking point when he just barely managed to turn around and catch a knife that had come flying out of the block, aimed right at the back of his head, cutting his hand wide open. Cloud had said it would get violent. With his delayed reaction time, he couldn’t put it off any longer.

               He wasn’t happy about it, but he went back.


	3. Chapter 3

               Cloud was lazily flipping through a torn magazine he didn’t like that an old lady had given him as part of a payment when his door opened, the bell ringing merrily. He closed his eyes and leaned back on his stool to stretch, arms above his head.

               “Thanks gods you’re here, Aeris, I—oh. It’s you. I didn’t think you’d come back.”

               Cloud lowered his arms, looking at the silver-haired man—Sephiroth, that was his name. His mother’s presence reappeared at his altar, as if drawn by his presence. He ignored her, but her last accusation of being _smitten_ rung in his ears.

               “I didn’t either.”

               “It’s been a month. How bad are things?”

               “A knife flew at my head this morning.”

               “Ah. I’m surprised it took this long,” Cloud said, hopping down off his stool. He crossed to a little seating area tucked in the corner by his altars. He called it a seating area, but it was three sad, torn chairs sitting across from each other, two on one side, one on the other. He sat on the chair sitting by itself and gestured at the pair. Sephiroth sighed at length but sat across from him.

               “I take it you’re ready to let me do my job?”                                                                        

               “Yes,” Sephiroth ground out. Cloud could hear his irritation, could hear his mother chiding him not to pick fights, but pointedly ignored both.

               “Good. Fill me in on the details and we’ll go from there.”

               Sephiroth spun his tale, winding through how things began to how they ended. When he mentioned that Zack had said he was past sage, Cloud had sighed in relief.

               “I’m glad you didn’t try it. If you don’t know what you’re doing, that’s like poking a hornet’s nest,” he had said, but before Sephiroth could ask what that meant, he plowed on, adding, “What then?”

               He brought everything up to present, when Cloud hummed and got out of his seat. He went to his calendar and flipped a page, nodding to himself.

               “Alright then. With the added costs I gave you, this comes to 500 gil. 250 now, 250 when we’re done. You’ll be able to tell the difference; you pay the last bit then.”

               Sephiroth watched him closely, but pulled out a wallet and fished out 250 gil. He held it out between his gloved fingers, and Cloud went over to take it from him gently. He folded the cash and went to tuck it into his cashbox behind the counter.

               “So, how does this work, then?”

               Cloud spoke as he crossed to the front of the shop, flipping his sign so that the outside read, “Sorry, we’re closed.”

               “You’re going to follow me to a back room, where you’ll get settled while I grab some supplies. The spirit is attached to you, not to your home, so we can remove her here, outside of territory where she’s comfortable and strong. Then we’ll go to your home, I’ll find whatever hole she crawled out of and seal it. Then I’ll cleanse the last of the funk out of your home, give you some instructions on how to prevent this from happening again, and you’ll pay me.”

               “Funk? Is that a technical term?”

               Cloud shot him a look.

               “C’mon. It’s back here.”

               He waited until Sephiroth stood and led him to a back room with a small mattress covered in a white sheet laying on the floor, a little tattered but clean. It would be short for his unnecessarily tall client, but it was the best he had.

               “Sit. I’ll be right back.”

               He left before Sephiroth sat, finding his way to a back room where he began fishing out supplies. He grabbed a bound stick of dried mugwort, the last of his ocean water (he’d have to save up for the trip to the sea to get more), a large black candle, an obsidian knife, and his drum. He brought them into the room, carefully, reverently set the objects down, and held up a finger when Sephiroth opened his mouth. He returned to the other room, grabbing a large, cast iron bowl and filling it with flint, steel, a char cloth, scraps of ash wood for tinder, and a few handfuls of juniper leaves. He brought the full bowl into the room and set it down before leaving again.

               He then went around to his altars, leaving out offerings. Mead for Odin, cinnamon whiskey for Logi, the fire god, vodka for Aegir, the sea god, juniper incense for the ancestors, milk and honey for the spirits of Juniper and Mugwort, white rum for Midgar. He prayed quietly, greeting each, explaining what he was about to do and asking for their help and guidance. He waited until felt their approval or denial and drew a rune from the pouch at his hip to confirm his intuition. He had the blessing of everyone except Mugwort; he’d have to grab his stick of Juniper instead. Logi seemed particularly enthusiastic; Sephiroth must have some history with fire. He thanked each in turn before leaving.

               He went to grab that stick of bound, dried Juniper before returning to the room.

               “Are you ready?” he asked, settling on his knees next to the mattress.

               “Can you explain to me what this all does?”

               Cloud looked up, watching him closely.

               “Do you really want to know? If I tell you, and you scoff and disbelieve, it won’t work as well.”

               Sephiroth pressed his lips into a line. Cloud was a little too on the nose.

               “I want to understand.”

               Cloud shifted his weight back to his heels and rested his hands on his knees.

               “You want to pick apart. You want logic to follow. I’m sorry, but that isn’t how this works.”

               “How does it work?”

               “How about I tell you when I’m done? I’ll run you through step by step if you’d like, but let me get through this while I still have the spirits’ blessings.”

               Sephiroth opened his mouth to ask again, but shut it. He nodded.

               “Good. Lie back for me, shut your eyes, and try to relax.”

               Sephiroth snorted quietly but did as he was told.

               Cloud settled in, crossing his legs and pulled out his drum. It was carefully painted with the four elements and had dangling bits tied to the edge of the frame: bones and bells, broken pieces of jewelry, horns and chips of antler. The fringe rattled together as he moved, but settled when he rested the drum in his lap. He began to drum quietly, using just the tips of his fingers, in time with his own heartbeat. He then began to hum, until it built to singing. The notes were wordless, but each associated with one of the runes, the song itself one of _galdr_ , the old singing magic his mother had taught him. He sang the runes whose help he needed: kenaz, for fire to burn away the spirit, nied, for the time of need, algiz, for defense, ansuz, for connection to the gods, eiwaz, for protection. It was repetitious and the repetition did its job; it lulled Cloud into a trance. Once his consciousness was altered as much as he needed it to be, when his mother told him to stop and move on, he set the drum aside and continued to sing.

               Cloud carefully pulled the items out of his bowl, resettling them in the correct order, and went about lighting the fire in the old way, the way his mother had shown him. He could use a lighter, and he’d done it in a pinch, but this was a serious working, and he had the time to do it right. As he did, he sang his prayer to Logi.

               “Hail Logi, may you cast light in the shadows.”

               He repeated it over and over again, half chant, half _galdr_. As he worked, the volume grew, the tone changing until it was all _galdr_. He didn’t plan the notes, he didn’t work them intentionally, he let his voice be guided, his mother singing him the correct notes; he just followed. Power began to fill the room as the song built, as the spark caught the char cloth. As he blew on the spark and tinder, he infused it with his _ond_ , his spirit energy, silently whispering a prayer to Odin, who had gifted man with _ond_ and life.

               The fire caught, the fire grew, and Cloud thanked Logi for his gift. He lit the black candle and set it aside; once you had fire made, you always made a second source, in case the first went out. He grabbed the juniper leaves and tossed them into the flames, asking Juniper for the blessing of his strength and his cleansing power. He then lit the stick of juniper from the flame and set the bowl to the side. He began _recaning_ the room, waving the smoke through the air until it filled the place. He bent over Sephiroth, overriding his own scent with that of the wood. He could see the shadow over his shoulder flinch away from the smoke and saw it as a good sign.

               He dipped the stick in the sea water to put it thoroughly out. He then dipped his fingertips into the water and flicked it over Sephiroth, singing quietly to Aegir.

               “Hail Aegir, may the pull of your seas drown who would do this man harm.”

               Sephiroth recoiled when he was hit in the face with the water and cracked an eye open at Cloud, but Cloud was too focused to notice. He flicked more water over Sephiroth’s shoulder, hitting the spirit, that recoiled and gave an audible hiss that Sephiroth heard and froze at the sound of.

               He repeated the process nine times: relight the juniper stick, _recan_ , douse the flame, sprinkle sea water. All the while, there was the sound of Cloud’s voice filling the room. The edges of it sounded sweet and light, and the sound would have been pretty in another context, but here, here it was imbued with so much power it seemed to crackle like the fire. It was almost dissonant, and so intense Sephiroth shivered a few times.

               With each repetition, the spirit pulled further and further away from Sephiroth, gaining definition as it went. By the end of the ninth round, a woman with silver hair and red eyes crouched over his shoulder, hissing. It began rambling threats, speaking of the great power of Jenova and how she would not be bested by a mortal man, even a dead man walking. Sephiroth had come to expect the eerie sound and didn’t look up at it anymore.

               Cloud picked up the obsidian knife and began repeating in his song, “In your name, Odin, Gallows God.” He did so nine times before setting the knife against Sephiroth’s shoulder. Sephiroth looked up and, startled at the sight of the strange woman, went to flinch, but Cloud’s hand was there on his shoulder, pressing it down; his mother’s hand had guided him into place before Sephiroth had even opened his eyes.

               “Hail Odin, Gallows God. You died as you hung on the tree. You bring the dying to you. Bring this dead one, Jenova, with you. Free the living, who cannot commune with death this way.”

               Cloud cut a sharp line outward, through where the spirit was connected to Sephiroth, and pressed more firmly down on his shoulder as the man arched up with a sharp gasp as if he’d been shocked. When he settled back on the bed, he was pale and sweating and out of breath.

               Cloud set the knife back down and pick the drum back up, picking up at the exact rhythm he’d had before he’d set the drum down, his mother guiding his hand again. He sung his thanks to the spirits and the gods as he wound down the speed of the drum, eventually coming to a halt. He opened his eyes, unsure when he’d closed them, coming fully out of his trance, to see Sephiroth staring at him in amazement. He just shrugged.

               He stood on wobbly legs, having to catch himself on the edge of the table by the bed and shake his head out. Heavy workings always left him out of sorts. He crossed to a back room and came back with another bowl of water and put out the fire that was still going and blew out the candle.

               “Come out whenever you’re ready,” he said, trying his best not to stumble on his way out and failing.

               He went to the little fridge he kept under the counter and grabbed water and an apple, something to recharge his energy and bring him fully back to present. He then went to the chairs they had been sitting in before and collapsed into his gratefully.

               He wasn’t sure when Sephiroth came out of the room, but eventually, when his head stopped spinning, he looked up and saw him standing at the counter, watching him closely.

               “How do you feel?”

               “Better. Remarkably better.”

               “Good. Do me a favor. Under the counter, there’s a box of juniper incense and a lighter. Grab them.”

               “Why juniper?” Sephiroth asked. He didn’t know that all the wood used in the working had been juniper, but at this point, he was gathering that everything was chosen for a reason.

               “He likes you. Something about your fighting spirit. Do you have it?”

               “Yes,” Sephiroth said, coming to stand by Cloud, who hauled himself out of the chair with a groan.

               “Okay, now, what you’re going to do, is you’re going to light a stick for each spirit that I called and thank them all for their help.”

               “How many were there?”

               “Odin, Logi, Aegir, my ancestors, Juniper, and Midgar—however many that is, I’m not doing math right now.”

               “Won’t that be a lot of incense?”

               “I’ve had more lit at one time before, and by now, this place will never get rid of the smell of incense.”

               Sephiroth pursed his lips and fought back the instinct to protest. In this, Cloud knew better.

               He walked Sephiroth through each altar, reminding him of which spirit was which, who was the spirit of what, and how to thank them. The prayer was always the same.

               “Hail (spirit in question). Thank you for your help in my cleansing.”

               Simple was best, in Cloud’s experience.

               While Sephiroth finished his prayers, Cloud finished his water and apple and felt a little more like himself by the end of it. Sephiroth, for his part, felt very strange about the entire experience, but arguably moreso about praying than anything else. He’d never prayed before in his life. He wasn’t sure how sincere he was being, but he was as sincere as he was able, given that he’d believe in none of this until recently.

               When he was done praying, Sephiroth turned to Cloud and fished out his wallet.

               “Oh, you don’t have to do that yet. We haven’t done your home, we aren’t done yet.”

               “I assume you have clients wait until the end to pay you so they are convinced you’ve done the work?”

               “…Yes?”

               “I’m already convinced.”

               Cloud eyed him in disbelief, but took the gil when it was handed to him. When it was a much thicker stack than he expected, he counted it, split it in half, and held half the stack back out to Sephiroth.

               “You already paid 250, remember? Half up front, half at the end.”

               Sephiroth pushed his hand back to his chest and said, “Consider it a tip.”

               Cloud looked at him in bewildered amazement. Who was this man that he threw out 250 gil as a _tip_?

               But Cloud had rent to make, so he didn’t argue.

               He turned, went to his cashbox, and tucked the money inside.

               “Give me a sec to grab some things, I’ll be right back.”

               Cloud went to the back and grabbed a little backpack he used, worn but holding together, and stashed the juniper stick, bottle of sea water, and a ceramic cup inside the bag.

               “Alright, let’s go.”

               “To my apartment?”

               “To your apartment,” Cloud confirmed, trying to force his ears not to burn at the implications; a situation made worse by his mother cackling in the background. “We have to cleanse it and ward it so Jenova doesn’t come back.”

               “Jenova? Was that her name?”

               “Apparently.”

               Sephiroth hummed, but led the way to the door which he held open for Cloud. Cloud followed him through, pausing in the threshold.

               Sephiroth barely caught it when he whispered, “Logi, please don’t let the incense spark. Please don’t burn the place down while I’m gone.”

               It seemed, to Sephiroth, like it would be a better idea to just wait until the incense burned out to leave. But Cloud seemed confident in his prayer, and Sephiroth was learning not to ask so many questions.

               “You had me pray to Midgar,” Sephiroth said as they wound their way down the rickety stairs that led up to his shop.

               “I did. He seems very partial to you for some reason.”

               “Midgar has a spirit.”

               His voice was full of disbelief.

               “Everything has a spirit,” Cloud said matter-of-factly.

               “Everything has a spirit,” Sephiroth repeated under his breath.

               There was silence for a while as they descended.

               “Midgar likes me?” Sephiroth picked up again.

               “Very much. I don’t always call on the landwights unless the person seems to have some relationship with them and they seem inclined to help. If we were in your home, I’d ask the spirit of your home for help, but Midgar volunteered himself. You must mean something to him.”

               Sephiroth hummed in thought.

               He wasn’t entirely sure how comfortable he was with that idea.

               For some reason, he got the impression that the spirit of Midgar didn’t much care how he felt about it.

               He greatly disliked the fact that he knew even that much about spirits.


	4. Chapter 4

               Cloud shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was when Sephiroth led him above the plate. He _was_ surprised when the man was very insistent on paying for his train ticket (“Consider it part of my tip.”) but he was learning that Sephiroth wasn’t exactly the person he seemed to be.

               Cloud hadn’t been above the plate since he first got to Midgar years ago. He could readily admit that he was excited—he hadn’t seen the sun in years, and he missed Sunna, no matter how much he prayed to her to still feel close. But the ride up was spoiling it. Everyone on the train kept looking at them, and it made Cloud feel uncomfortable and self-conscious. He straightened his second-hand clothes a few times nervously (which Sephiroth noticed and kept quiet about, regardless of how endearing it might have been—not that he would admit to it being endearing), very aware of how cheap they were in comparison to Sephiroth’s strange leather get-up.

               He leaned over to hiss, “Why is everyone looking over here? Are you famous or something?”

               Sephiroth couldn’t keep the amusement off his face when he said, “That’s a word for it.”

               Cloud pulled back to look at him like he had six heads, but Sephiroth just continued to look ahead, not making eye contact with him.

               He sincerely hoped he was just fucking with him.

               He couldn’t _actually_ be famous, right?

               He second-guessed himself about that the entire rest of the ride up.

               The staring didn’t get any better above ground, but he noticed it less. When they got off the train, Cloud stopped and shut his eyes, taking a deep breath that was interrupted when Sephiroth pulled him out of the way so other passengers could disembark. He finished his long breath, enjoying the sweet, clean(er) air, and looked up, a soft smile lighting his face.

               _Hail Sunna, may my days be bright long after you are out of sight._

                Eventually, he looked back to Sephiroth, who raised an eyebrow at him. He shrugged, but his cheeks began to burn.

               “It’s been a long time since I was above the plate.”

               “How long is a long time?”

               “Years. I’m not sure how many.”

               Sephiroth began walking, expecting Cloud to fall in beside him. Cloud didn’t appreciate the presumption, but did so anyway.

               “Did you used to live above plate?”

               “No, the last time I was here was when I first got to Midgar.”

               “You’re not from here, then.”

               “No, I’m from a little village in the mountains called Nibelheim on the Western Continent.”

               “I’m familiar with the town, I’ve been a few times. Is that where you learned…” Sephiroth waved his hand vaguely, “this?”

               Cloud snorted.

               “Well, I sure didn’t learn it here.”

               “Is it a common cultural thing, there? I don’t recall seeing shrines like yours when I visited.”

               “You wouldn’t have, my family were the only shamans.”

               “Shamans?”

               Cloud shrugged, saying, “That’s what we’ve always called ourselves.”

               Sephiroth hummed.

               “So the town is without a shaman now that you’re here, or do you have relatives who stayed?”

               “No, they’re without now, and there’s no one left to teach them the traditions but the spirits, and I’m not sure that they would help.”

               “Isn’t that a bad situation? What if they need you?”

               “That’s their problem. They didn’t want me in town anymore, so I left. They’ll have to live with the consequences.”

               It was slightly more nuanced than that, given that the whole situation was retribution from the spirits, taking away everything he had to force him to move forward. But kicking him out of town was still their action, and Cloud didn’t feel bad that they would have to deal with the repercussions.

               “Harsh, but fair.”

               “That could be Nibelheim’s motto, honestly.”

               Sephiroth gave a little puff of laughter but let them lapse into silence. Cloud was grateful, it gave him a chance to appreciate the sun and sky and not-stale air as they walked.

               Eventually, they began to approach a truly massive building.

               “I forgot they even made them this big,” Cloud mumbled as they got closer. He missed the tiny upturn of Sephiroth’s lips.

               “Have you ever been in a building this tall?”

               “Not once.”

               “This will be interesting for you, then.”

               Cloud walked inside and saw the large Shinra logo on the wall. He stutter-stepped, freezing for half a second in surprise, looking quickly between the sign and Sephiroth, who didn’t seem to notice his moment of surprise.

               He didn’t realize that Sephiroth worked for _Shinra_. Much less that he lived there!

               The secretary at the front desk politely said, “Sephiroth,” as they walked by.

               Sephiroth said, “Linda,” without so much as looking at her, which Cloud found to be rather rude, but he didn’t push the matter.

               He followed close on Sephiroth’s heels as the man led them through a maze of hallways that quickly lost Cloud before bringing them to an elevator. Cloud had only actually been in an elevator a handful of times and wondered how long it would take for them to get where they were going in a building that big.

               When they got inside, the elevator was thankfully empty. Which was good, because that meant only Sephiroth saw Cloud stumble under the impressive speed the elevator took off at after Sephiroth punched the button for _70_ of all things.

               Just who _was_ he?

               Sephiroth led them to a door far down the hall which he opened with by tapping a plastic card to a panel, and Cloud felt wildly out of place. He hadn’t even known that was a _thing_.

               Sephiroth’s apartment was pristine in appearance, but Cloud almost sunk under the weight of the energy in the place. He was almost relieved for it—this, he knew. This, he understood. The work was familiar, even if the surroundings were strange.

               Cloud couldn’t help the way his nose wrinkled as he entered, saying, “Yeah, I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

               Cloud pulled the backpack off his shoulders and rested it on a counter after getting a quick nod of approval from Sephiroth, where he pulled out his supplies. He wished, now that he was here, that he had brought his drum regardless of the hassle of transport—he could use it. Instead, he began humming and walking through the apartment. He guided his hands through the air above objects to feel for Jenova’s taint, listening for where the sound of his humming bounced back, but with the echo sounding wrong. He took mental note of these places (the bed, the stove, the front door, all of the mirrors, the singular framed painting) and returned to his supplies on the counter.

               He pulled out a box of matches and the juniper stick, lighting it quickly. He prayed beneath his breath to Aegir and Juniper and Midgar, that they might help his work, between breaths where he blew on the juniper to encourage the spark. He began to go around the apartment _recaning_ the space, singing _galdr_ as he went. He chose the rune-notes carefully. _Eiwaz_ for protection, _algiz_ for defense, _sowilo_ for the sun’s bright light in the darkness, _kenaz_ for cleansing fire, _ansuz_ for the aid of the gods, _dagaz_ for the new beginning of dawn. He sang as he went, letting it build around him, not caring if Sephiroth’s neighbors overheard him. When he stopped to draw breath, he blew one out over the juniper, encouraging the embers and giving it the aid of his _ond_. He walked from room to room, tracing the outline of each to make sure he got into all the corners, even inside his closet, until he was satisfied that the area was clean. He had forgotten, by this point, that Sephiroth was there at all, despite the fact that the man was trailing him throughout the process.

               Cloud went back to his bag and poured the last of the sea water into the ceramic cup he’d made specifically for doing work in a client’s home. He dipped the juniper in it to douse the flame and muttered a thank you to its spirit before setting it down on his bag. He then went around to each of the spots he had felt out earlier and, at each, dipped his finger into the cup. With the sea water, he drew a bindrune on each spot, blowing his _ond_ onto it to charge it. Along with each spot he marked, he did the windows and all the doorways. It was easier to do the _galdr_ this way, where he didn’t have to stop to blow on the juniper every other breath, and he got louder as he went. He ended with the front door gladly, as there was only a drop left in the cup at that point. He thanked each of the spirits he had called on and set the cup aside.

               “I don’t have incense for you to light, but you need to thank the spirits aloud anyway.”

               “I already thanked them.”

               “You thanked them for their help the first time. This is a separate working.”

               With no more argument, Cloud led him through prayers of thanks to each spirit.

               The work being concluded, Cloud gathered his belongings.

               “You should be good now,” he said as he packed. “I’ve cleansed the area and sealed the spiritual entrances. If she manages to get back in, though, she’ll be pissed. The first sign of activity, you come back to me and I’ll take care of it, but be sure you come quickly. Things will escalate fast if it comes to that.”

               “How likely do you think that will be?”

               “Honestly? Not very, but she was stubborn. I’m not sure she’ll let it go. Your apartment is locked down though, so even if she tries her damnedest, it will take her a while to get in. We’ll just have to see how it goes.”

               “Hopefully she lets it lie.”

               “Hopefully. If she’s determined, she’ll strong arm her way in eventually. Just keep an eye and an ear out. It’s nothing that can’t be fixed if she does.”

               “You’re very confident.”

               Cloud shrugged, saying, “The spirits I work with are stronger than she is, and they do the heavy lifting. I’m just the channel they come through.”

               “I thought you were the one doing the work.”

               “I am, but the power isn’t mine. I just borrow it sometimes.”

               “I’m grateful, regardless. It will be nice to get some uninterrupted sleep.”

               “I bet,” Cloud said, shouldering his bag. “You have my number if you need me?”

               “I have your business card, is that your number?”

               “Yeah.”

               “You give out your personal number to clients? Isn’t that a bad idea?”

               Cloud shrugged again.

               “I can’t afford a second PHS, so it’s really my only option. It’s worked out fine so far.”

               Sephiroth frowned, but let it slide.

               “Let me walk you down, then.”

               “Thanks.”

               When they left, there was a dark-haired man leaning against his own doorway slightly down the hall and across it. Sephiroth nodded to him, and he nodded back, and Cloud was steered off toward the elevator. He couldn’t help but be a little amused that Sephiroth would have to explain why he had some stranger singing loudly in his apartment.

               He was, however, glad that the man had heard him and didn’t just see him leaving Sephiroth’s apartment. He didn’t need anyone thinking he was Sephiroth’s booty call.

               And then he realized that was likely what the entire building thought.

               His face turned red, but Sephiroth politely didn’t point it out.

               The elevator went just as fast on the way down as it had on its way up, but Cloud managed not to stumble this time. Linda let them pass the desk without a word this time, though Cloud came to a stop outside the front doors.

               “I can find my way from here. I want to enjoy the sun and the air a bit on my way home.”

               “If you’re sure.”

               “I am. Call me if you need me, but I hope you won’t. If you still feel like you aren’t fully in your body yet, you can call me for that too.”

               “You can fix that?”

               “It’d be team work. Like me steering you while you walk. But yeah, yeah I can.”

               “I thought you just did hauntings.”

               “I do a bit of everything. If it’s spiritual, chances are I’ve done it at least once.”

               “I’ll keep that in mind.”

               “Cool. I’m gonna head out, then. Either put my number in your phone or don’t lose that card.”

               “I’ll take care of it.”

               Cloud waved briefly, and then headed off.

               Sephiroth watched him go.

 

               “So, who was that?” Zack asked, following Sephiroth into his apartment without being invited.

               “A shaman.”

               “A _shaman?_ ”

               “He also calls himself a medium, if that helps. He’s the recommendation I got from your store to take care of my spirit problem.”

               “So it’s taken care of, then? I can be in here without being freaked out?”

               “You can.”

               “Thank gods,” Zack said, wandering in to lean against the back of the couch. He folded his arms over his chest and stared at Sephiroth, who stared back.

               After a long moment, he said, “What?”

               “He was cute.”

               Sephiroth blinked.

               “I can give you his number, if you’d like?”

               “Nah, man, he’s not my type. He _is_ yours, though.”

               He narrowed his eyes.

               “What are you implying?”

               “That he’s cute, and that we both know you’ve noticed.”

               “That’s unprofessional, Zackary.”

               “He’s your _shaman_ , not your _boss_. I don’t really think there are rules here.”

               “He’s still a person I hired. It would be inappropriate to come onto him.”

               “Why don’t you let him decide that? If you try and he shoots you down, then, well, at least you know.”

               “Absolutely not.”

               “Want me to do it for you?”

               “Zack, I’m not saying no out of a lack of courage, but out of a sufficient level of ethics.”

               “C’mon, do you even remember the last time you went on a date?”

               When Sephiroth answer with silence, Zack continued, “Listen, just text him, ask if he wants to get coffee or something. As a thank you. See how it goes when you’re not in a business setting.”

               Sephiroth answered with more silence. He was hoping it came off as imposing and not that he was considering it, which he was.

               Unfortunately, Zack knew him better than that.

               He grinned, clapped Sephiroth on the shoulder, and said, “Good man.”

 

               To: Cloud Strife: I feel I owe you another thank you. Would you like to get coffee?

               From: Cloud Strife: Sounds good to me. When and where?


	5. Chapter 5

               Cloud had a lot of reservations about this outing with Sephiroth. The first among them was the intention behind it. His client had said it was a thank you, and maybe it was, but then again, maybe it wasn’t, and was that a moral breach? In the off chance that this _was_ a date, he had done multiple divination readings to get the advice of the spirits, and had gotten an overwhelming, “you always worry over nothing, will you ever learn?” His mother, in particular, had been outright gleeful at the text he’d received, so he knew he had her blessing if nothing else.

               The ethics of it had been his primary concern, but with that solved, there were still logistical issues. The core of the matter, unfortunately, being that he was just dirt poor. Coffee outings weren’t something he regularly indulged in. He drank weak, watery coffee each morning in hopes of stretching the grounds as far as he could, made with an old, worn plastic pour-over cup that he placed on top of his mug, carefully pouring the hot water into it to brew his coffee, as he had never been able to afford a pot but found the pour-over cup in someone’s moving-out sale. The last time he’d gotten a big tip, he’d gone to get coffee at the only coffee shop he knew of in the sector, and he didn’t know most of the things on the menu.

               So he was already going out for a drink he couldn’t afford. There was that one coffee shop he knew of below the plate, but he felt embarrassed to ask Sephiroth to it now that he had seen his apartment and knew how he lived. But he also knew he couldn’t afford the ticket above plate, and he was too proud to ask for Sephiroth to pay for it. It was a conundrum.

               One that was easily solved when Sephiroth, who was apparently both observant and considerate, invited him to the below plate café. He must have done some research into the options and picked the one Cloud could afford. That, in itself, was embarrassing, but at least he didn’t have to actually swallow his pride and ask for the affordable option.

               That sorted both the ethics and the logistics, which left him conveniently out of minor things to worry about. That left only the big, looming thing he’d been avoiding.

As he always did, a few days after the ritual he did a follow-up reading. It was standard practice for him, a way to check in that everything went right and would continue to go right. There was always the chance that whatever nasty thing was infesting a place would come back, and Cloud liked to know ahead of time if he’d need to do a second session. When he drew the runes and set them out on his embroidered but tattered red velvet cloth, he didn’t like what stared up at him.

               Thurisaz reversed: danger, defenselessness, evil, malice.

               Hagalaz: crisis, testing, trial.

               Isa: challenge, standstill, blockage, reinforcement of surrounding runes.

               Cloud stared down at the stones for a long time before he let out a single but heartfelt, “Shit.”

               His mother, reading over his shoulder, said, “Language, Cloud. But you’re right. Shit.”

               Jenova was going to come back, and with a vengeance. Sephiroth was going to try to weather it on his own again, as if it was a personal challenge, instead of calling and resolving things right away. No, Cloud would need to step in. The question wasn’t whether or not he should call Sephiroth first, but rather timing. If he called before Jenova showed up, Sephiroth would expect her, and that might draw her in. If he waited too long, well, Sephiroth would be dealing with a well and true mess on his own with no way out.

               Cloud put the runes back in their bag and went to return it to the little box in the back where he kept his divination supplies. He pulled out his little quartz pendulum and went back out to sit on the floor in front of his red cloth, grabbing his calendar off the wall as he went. He laid the calendar on top of the cloth, open to the current month, January. He held his hand aloft above the calendar, the pendulum dangling from his fingertips. He used his free hand to hold the weighted point at the end of the chain to steady it, and then released it.

               “Show me when Jenova will return,” Cloud whispered to the pendulum and began moving it slowly over the calendar.

               It was still and steady over the first week, which they were still in. It was still over the second week. In fact, it was still over the whole month. Cloud frowned. He moved the pendulum back to the top of the calendar.

               “Show me when the malevolent entity will arrive.”

               Steady over the first week. Still over the second. It wasn’t until the third week that the pendulum began moving in slow, lazy circles. Cloud cursed quietly. He knew he cleansed the area well and that there were no doors left open for spirits to come through when he left. Jenova could have found her way back because she had already been there. But it should take longer for the apartment to fall into enough spiritual disrepair that a new entity could find its way in. It didn’t make sense. Cloud pursed his lips but continued dowsing, moving to the start of the week. As he went, the rate of the spinning increased until it hit a peak on Thursday the 17th. Just to be sure, Cloud moved the pendulum through Friday and Saturday, but the second he moved past Thursday, the speed began to slow again.

               Cloud picked up the calendar and folded up the red cloth neatly. He returned the calendar to the wall and the cloth and pendulum to their box, thinking on the conundrum all the while. How would the spirit get in?

               He went back to the calendar, grabbing a pen off the counter as he went. He circled the Thursday after the 17th and wrote “call Sephiroth” inside. A week would be enough time for the entity to make itself known without leaving Sephiroth to suffer for too long. He didn’t want to call as soon as the entity arrived in the off chance that it didn’t show itself immediately and Sephiroth didn’t believe him that it was there. He had the feeling that he could call Sephiroth right now and say there was a spirit in his home and he’d be believed, but he couldn’t take the chance. He’d had enough clients in the past not believe him if he called too early, and he liked to learn from his mistakes.

               So now there was nothing to do but wait the next few weeks for shit to hit the fan. There was nothing for him to do about the situation now, and even the few problems surrounding his coffee meet up (date?) seemed to have dried up. He didn’t have anything left to ponder or suss out, except perhaps where he would get his next client. Which proved to not be quite engaging enough as the days ticked down to when he would meet Sephiroth again.

               When the day came, he woke up early. He told himself that he wanted time to shower and eat without being in a rush, when deep down he knew it took him five minutes to shower and ten to fifteen to eat. No, instead what he spent that extra hour on was trying on and discarding outfits.

               It was freezing this time of year under the plate. True, there was no wind to sneak in through gaps in walls to chill the bones, but, like any basement, things were just colder below ground. According to Skadi, the goddess of winter and the hunt who he worked with more this time of year, there had been a lot of snowfall above the plate. If it was cold enough for snow above ground, it was more than a little nippy below. But, by the nature of the slums, most places didn’t come with central heating. That left Cloud huddled around space heater that liked to click ominously on occasion. Or, in today’s case, changing as quickly as he could to get into the warmth of clothes, even if the cloth itself was still cold when he put it on. He took a look in his cracked standing mirror and peered at himself for a little before tsking and changing again. There was soon a veritable mountain of clothes on his bed that he dug through every now and then to pick out one particular piece he had already discarded but wanted to reconsider.

               In the end, he dressed relatively simply, as he was wont to do. Tight black jeans (that might show off his ass, but that obviously wasn’t important today) and a soft heather gray tee-shirt with a navy blue cardigan over top. He hid the hair he couldn’t quite tame in a black beanie and pulled on his thick, clunky, but blessedly warm boots. He put on the necklace with the dangling quartz point and wolf medallion that he never left the house without. After a moment of consideration, he went into his sparse kitchen and to the tiny, tiny herb garden he had growing beneath a UV light he’d managed to salvage and repair from the side of the road. He plucked two basil leaves, thanking the plant for its help, and yanked off his shoes, tucking one in each before slipping them back on. He told himself it was for luck, pointedly ignoring the question of what he’d need luck for, as well as the secondary association basil had with love.

               Bundled in his coat with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, Cloud began to make the trek to the sector’s coffee shop. He was glad for once that he was from Nibelheim and that the cold never seemed quite as bad to him as it did to everyone else. That being said, when he was this wrapped up, you knew it was bad. He was usually the one gawked at for wearing a tee-shirt while everyone else still had jackets on.

               Freezing cold or no, he eventually made it to the shop, still twenty minutes early despite how long it had taken him to get ready. He glanced around for Sephiroth outside and then repeated the process when inside the building, but he wasn’t there yet.

               The shop was cozy in a way that few places below the plate were. It was painted in warm colors and featured a lot of wood furniture, even if that furniture had quite a few nicks and scrapes. There were curtains framing the large windows and a strange absence of neon in the entire place. It filled Cloud with a sense of homecoming. This could be a business in Nibelheim, if only the view out the windows was different.

               Cloud approached the counter and ordered his black coffee, forking over a small handful of gil that he was reluctant to let go of. He was, however, grateful for the warmth of the small paper cup against his frozen fingers.

               After thanking the barista, who gave him a polite smile in return, he turned around and faced his second problem. Where to sit. Being the first one there, it was his decision where they would sit, and that could set the tone of this entire situation. There the booths that were intimate and the tables that were a little less so. Cloud stood there pondering until the next customer bumped into him on accident. Well, “accident.” He apologized quickly and went to pick out a small table by a window with only two chairs. A compromise between the booths and the large, impersonal tables. His mother kept whispering encouragement for the booth, but this was a thank-you, not a date. He told himself that very firmly and tried not to fiddle nervously with his necklace—a bad habit of his.

               As the time ticked by, he only grew more anxious. No reassurances from any spirit helped calm him. The time they were scheduled to meet came and went. Cloud checked his PHS repeatedly, but didn’t have anything new. Eventually, half an hour past their meeting time came and went and Cloud, disheartened, was getting ready to leave. He decided to give it fifteen more minutes, and then he was gone.

               About five minutes after that decision, the door to the shop banged open, startling most of the clientele. Cloud, like everyone else, looked up in surprise, but softened at the sight of Sephiroth looking around the shop quickly, a line of tension in his shoulders. Eventually, Sephiroth’s eyes landed on him, and he raised his hand in a lazy wave with a small smile curling on his lips. Sephiroth seemed to relax at the sight and release a breath Cloud wasn’t sure he even knew he was holding. He hurried over.

               “I cannot apologize enough, Cloud,” Sephiroth said as the shop went back to its quietly buzzing normal. “I was sent on a mission last night and I only just got back. My PHS died on the flight back.”

               The smile on Cloud’s lips spread a little wider. He leaned his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm.

               “Have you slept at all?”

               “… It may have been a while.”

               “You could have cancelled, you know. I would have understood.”

               “I didn’t want to cancel. I wasn’t sure when you’d be free next to reschedule.”

               Cloud laughed brightly and tilted his head—though he’d never admit it, the look on his face was fond.

               “I’m almost always free, Sephiroth. I don’t exactly have a flood of business.”

               Sephiroth’s lips pursed just a hair, for just a fraction of a second.

               “I’m still not sure why.”

               “That’s the nature of things. Why don’t you go get your coffee? It’s freezing, and your jacket is _still_ unbuttoned, for gods know what reason.”

               “I don’t get cold very easily. What did you order?” Sephiroth asked, nodding toward his now-empty cup. “I’ll buy you another. As an apology for my lateness.”

               Part of Cloud wondered if he would have offered to buy him a drink regardless of being late or not. He wondered about his motives, whether it was out of a sense of charity. If it had been, Cloud wouldn’t have accepted it. But this was an apology, and Sephiroth _was_ pretty late.

               “Black coffee.”

               “That’s all? Nothing in it?”

               “Nope. I don’t know what half the things on the menu are anyway.”

               Cloud paused, unsure of why he even admitted to that.

               His mother laughed quietly.

               “I can make a recommendation, if you like.”

               Cloud paused, but shrugged.

               “Sure. Nothing too sweet.”

               He shrugged back and cryptically said, “Suit yourself.”

               Cloud couldn’t help but wonder if the big-bad-important-Shinra-employee had a sweet tooth.

               Sephiroth left to go get their drinks and, in his absence, Cloud couldn’t help but notice the people staring, who looked away quickly when he made eye contact, but always looked back the second his eyes moved on. Cloud wondered again about the truth of Sephiroth’s mysterious statement on the train that he was something like famous. He blew out a long breath and folded his arms on the table, spinning the empty coffee cup between his palms as he waited.

               He was starting to get uncomfortable as the whispers began. Who _was_ Sephiroth?

               He didn’t have much time to worry about it, because a coffee cup appeared in front of his face. Cloud blinked and reached out to take it, his eyes trailing up the long, long line of Sephiroth’s arm. With the cup passed off, he took his seat.

               “What’d you get me?” Cloud asked, sniffing at the cup. He looked up to see Sephiroth watching him with something like warmth in his eyes.

               “A cappuccino. It shouldn’t be too sweet for you.”

               “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

               “You’re welcome. Thank you for your patience with my tardiness.”

               Gods, but he could talk stuffy. If only it wasn’t so damn cute.

               Cloud quickly buried that thought.

               “So, what was this ‘mission’ you were sent on?”

               “Unfortunately, the details are classified. But suffice it to say that it was routine and incredibly dull.”

               Cloud snorted and then took a sip from his cup. He couldn’t see the way his own face lit up, but Sephiroth, for one, noticed.

               “This is really good. Thanks again.”

               “It’s my pleasure, Cloud.”

               Cloud tried very pointedly to not read too much into that.

               “What kind of department are you in that you get sent on _missions_ anyway?”

               There was a long pause, and Cloud looked up slowly, very sure he’d said the wrong thing. He was surprised to see Sephiroth watching him with wonder.

               “You really have _no_ idea who I am, do you?”

               Cloud couldn’t help but blush, embarrassed at his ignorance despite the way it almost seemed to please Sephiroth.

               “I know your name and that you live in a big, fancy apartment in Shinra Tower, but that’s about it.”

               “You don’t follow Shinra very closely, I take it.”

               “I try not to. The whole ‘one company ruling the world’ thing is a little off-putting. Then there’s the problem with mako.”

               “What’s the problem with mako?”

               “It’s the planet’s life-blood, Sephiroth. We’re draining her.”

               “I didn’t take you for the eco-fanatical type.”

               “‘Fanatical,’ wow, that’s harsh.”

               “Apologies, that’s how the company generally refers to people with those beliefs.”

               Cloud shrugged and took another sip of his drink, humming.

               “Not terribly surprising. But I work with spirits all day, a lot of whom are from nature. I wouldn’t have even known what mako really was if Jord didn’t tell me herself. Just call it a… professional disagreement with Shinra.”

               Sephiroth hummed, curious. He’d heard endless droning of those complaints, but never presented as calmly as Cloud was doing, without a sense of hatred.

               “Who’s Jord?”

               “Sorry, she’s the goddess of the planet.”

               “She’s _what?_ ”

               “Remember, Sephiroth, everything has a spirit, and the important things tend to have gods. The planet’s pretty important.”

               “I… suppose I understand, I’m just surprised. You talk to the planet.”

               Cloud laughed outright, and the fondness in his smile reassured Sephiroth that his slip of the tongue hadn’t ruined everything.

               “I talk to a lot of things most people don’t.”

               “But they talk back to you.”

               “Most of the time. Sometimes they’re busy.” Cloud took another sip of his drink, but when he saw the look on Sephiroth’s face, he said, “What? Spirits have lives too.”

               Sephiroth smoothed his hair back from his face in a gesture of exasperation.

               “Of course they do.”

               “Stop trying to change the subject,” Cloud said, kicking Sephiroth lightly under the table. “Are you going to tell me what your deal is or no?”

               The smile that curled on Sephiroth’s lips had an edge of mischief to it. Cloud found the look took his breath away.

               “Maybe I should let you guess.”

               Thank gods he recovered quickly.

               “I’ll just make increasingly unlikely guesses until you tell me.”

               “Give me your top three guesses, and if you don’t get it, I’ll tell you.”

               “Fine. Gardener.”

               The corner of his mouth twitched up.

               “No.”

               “Janitor.”

               “Still no.”

               “Line cook.”

               “What? No. You didn’t even try.”

               “Of course I did. I tried to make them ridiculous. Now, a deal’s a deal. Spill.”

               Sephiroth sighed and glanced around. From the people that looked away when he looked toward them, he guessed that most people here knew who he was anyway.

               “I run the SOLDIER program.”

               “… The super-enhanced super-human one?”

               “Yes.”

               Cloud blinked in surprise.

               “Are _you_ enhanced?”

               “Very much so.”

               “Wow. Okay. Not what I was expecting.”

               “What _were_ you expecting?”

               “I don’t know, some really well paid pencil-pusher spot?”

               “Cloud, do I _look_ like all I do is paperwork?”

               He looked him up and down and tried (and failed) to keep his gaze chaste. Sephiroth distinctly noticed his failure.

               “No, no you don’t.”

               “In your defense, I do happen to do a lot of paperwork, but that isn’t my only job.”

               “Hold on, I thought the guy who ran SOLDIER had a ridiculous name? I think it started with an R?”

               “It starts with an S. Because it’s Sephiroth. Though I’m flattered you don’t find my name ridiculous.”

               “Yeah, well, my name is Cloud Strife, how much room do I have to talk?”

               Sephiroth chuckled lowly, and Cloud could help but think that he would do many, many things to hear that sound.

               “Point taken.”

               “So you really _are_ famous.

               “Unfortunate—” his PHS beeped, “—ly. Unfortunately busy, that is. Give me a second, please.”

               “Take your time.”

               Cloud sipped idly at his drink as he watched Sephiroth pull out his once-dead PHS, only to find it hooked up to a portable charger. He must have found one to grab on his way below the plate. He watched as Sephiroth sighed with a look of irritation.

               “This is urgent, I’m needed back at the Tower.”

               “Oh,” Cloud said, blinking in surprise. “Oh, right, sure. Duty calls.”

               “I wish it wouldn’t,” Sephiroth grumbled, standing from his chair with Cloud following suit, their cups left on the table.

               “You have a job to do, I respect that.”

               “Thank you. You really are very patient.”

               Cloud laughed (though the sound was a little tight) and said, “If there’s one thing spirits will teach you, it’s patience.”

               “Listen, Cloud,” Sephiroth said, sounding almost hesitant, which was strange considering his usual confidence. “I was wondering if I might be able to see you again.”

               Cloud blinked a few times.

               “Before I answer that, I want to ask you something.”

               “By all means.”

               “Was this a date?”

               Sephiroth hesitated.

               “I was hoping it might be.”

               His mother gave a little cheer of excitement.

               Cloud couldn’t help the way his chest warmed despite the cold, or the way his face softened.

               “I was too. I’d be happy to have a second date with you, Sephiroth.”

               Sephiroth looked surprised, and then almost sheepish.

               “I’ll text you, then?”

               “You have my number.”

               “Right. Before I go, I have one last question.”

               “You’ve got plenty today. What’s this one?”

               “Can I kiss you?”

               Cloud looked shocked, and Sephiroth, despite how self-assured he almost always was, looked unsure.

               Cloud’s face split in a smile, and the tension dropped from Sephiroth’s shoulders. He only relaxed further as Cloud stepped closer. He stood on his toes and, grabbing Sephiroth by the straps across his chest (both ignoring the flutter in their stomachs as their skin brushed), pulled him down far enough that he could kiss him. It was as soft as it was brief as it was perfect. They parted slowly, both looking a little dazed. They watched each other lazily for a long moment until Sephiroth’s phone chirped again. Cloud laughed at the same time that Sephiroth groaned and rolled his eyes. Cloud shot up on his toes, pressing one last kiss to the corner of Sephiroth’s mouth. When he pulled away, Sephiroth had that dazed look again. Cloud found that it suited him.

               “Go on, before they send a squad or something down here to get you.”

               “I’ll text you.”

               “You better.”

               Sephiroth nodded once, and then turned and left the coffee shop. It was only after Cloud sat down again that he noticed the way everyone was staring at him. He raised his eyebrows, making eye contact with more than one person, and found that they all looked away en masse. He hoped that publicity wouldn’t be a problem.

               “Well,” said Cloud’s mother, “I think that went wonderfully, don’t you?”

               Cloud just smiled by way of answer, scooped his cup off the table, and took another sip, looking out the window and remembering the feel of Sephiroth’s lips against his.


	6. Chapter 6

               There was a dull _thwap_ as the papers hit his desk.

               Sephiroth looked up to see Zack, who was fighting to keep a grin on his face. He quickly plopped down into a chair, resting his elbows on the desk, and propped his chin in his hands. The look on his face was what could only be described as shit-eating.

               “What’s this?” Sephiroth said, still watching Zack as he picked up the papers.

               “Why don’t you look?”

               Sephiroth glanced down at the papers. He groaned and rested his forehead in his palm.

               “Anything you want to tell me?” Zack all but sang.

               He opened his eyes again. Staring up at him were multiple photos of him and Cloud kissing in the café.

               “I think you already know enough,” he answered, handing the papers back.

               Zack grinned, taking them.

               “I was told to come down here and scold you about the PR slip, remind you to be careful, blah, blah, blah, things I’m sure you’re already thinking. What _I’m_ interested in, is when you and your little shaman had your date. You never told me how it went.”

               “I didn’t think it involved you.”

               Zack sat up and rested his hand over his heart, a wounded look on his face.

               “ _Sephiroth_. I’m your _best friend_. Of _course_ I’m invested in how this goes. So. How did it go?”

               Sephiroth sighed and said, “Well, obviously, or we wouldn’t have the PR problem. Did Shinra buy off the papers?”

               “You know they did, stop deflecting. What did you guys do, what’d you talk about, give me details!”

               “We went out for coffee, we talked about our jobs and how he had literally no idea who I actually was, but that was about it.”

               “Really? He had _no_ clue?”

               “Not one. He thought the head of SOLDIER had a ‘ridiculous name’ that started with an R.”

               Zack laughed and said, “Well, he’s right about the ridiculous bit.”

               Sephiroth shot him a look, but it was lacking heat.

               “So, are you going to see him again?” Zack asked.

               “Yes.”

               “And he knows it’s a date?”

               “Yes.”

               “When?”

               “We haven’t scheduled it yet, you know how busy I’ve been. Why are you asking so many questions?”

               “Because I care, stupid.”

               Sephiroth sighed.

               “When I have an update, I’ll let you know.” His tone was dripping with sarcasm, but Zack popped out of his chair.

               “Good! If not, I’ll just keep pestering you.”

               “Joyous. Don’t you have work to do?”

               “Yup. I’m gonna go train instead. Wanna come?”

               “ _No_ , Zack. At least one of us has to do our jobs.”

               “Or _do_ that cute shaman.”

               “Zack.”

               “Yeah?”

               “Get out of my office.”

               Zack laughed, but he also left, the door swinging shut loudly behind him.

               Sephiroth settled back and reopened his laptop to what was distinctly _not_ work, though it was research.

               Cloud had never specified what kind of spirit Jenova was, just that she was “nasty,” which was a sentiment Sephiroth wouldn’t argue with. But that wasn’t enough for Sephiroth. As always, he was plagued with a need to _know_. He wanted details. He wanted all there was to know about the Jenova spirit and how to prevent her from ever returning himself. It wasn’t that he minded calling Cloud—in fact, he would like a chance to—but he hated calling others for _help_. He hated being helpless. If there was anything he could do to fix this, he would. A long time ago, he had learned everything that was available to him about science, just to know how things worked. It couldn’t be so different with this. All he needed were some books, the internet, and some time, and he could know as much as Cloud did about spirits.

               So he began his research. He did a quick search for lists of spirit types, and there were more than he was expecting. Gods, ghosts, fae, plant spirits, animal spirits, ancestor spirits, angels, demons, the lists went on. So he picked the one that seemed most likely to be the category Jenova fell under and began there.

               Researching demons wasn’t really that hard. There was quite a lot about some ancient, ancient King named Solomon who had once summoned and bound demons, even going as far as to catalogue them. No matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t find Jenova’s names on any of the lists of demons that turned up. What he did find was quite a lot of insistences that the only way to truly know any spirit was to talk to it. He searched for backup of this idea too, and found it to be a widely accepted idea. That left him with only one option left.

               It took him much longer to research evocation than it had the general idea of demons. Everything he found insisted that he had to do this part just right, or there would be severe negative consequences. It didn’t help that, while there were many consistent elements, there were many _in_ consistent elements as well. Everyone agreed that getting the seal just right was crucial, but no one could quite agree on what was the authentic seal.

               The best compromise he could find was to take the most common elements of everything. The most common tools, the most common seal, the most commonly cross-listed demon name.

               During this time, he fell out of communication with most people. Zack had seen this happen before, knew how he got when he found a new obsession. He knew that eventually he would be satisfied and it would pass, and that the quickest way to get it over with was to let him go at it.

               Cloud, however, did not know this. All he knew was that Sephiroth never followed up after their date, never called or texted to set up the next, and had a serious incoming spirit problem. He was worried. He wouldn’t admit that, even when his mother, several older ancestors, _and_ Midgar told him pointedly that he was and that he should do something about it. But he was a little stung by the lack of follow-up. He felt that maybe he was more interested in that date than Sephiroth was, and that maybe he should just drop it. There was nothing wrong with him just being a client—it was all he had originally signed up for. And if that was what he wanted, he would treat him like any other client, and call at what divination had told him was the proper time.

               But the time went by quickly for Sephiroth, wrapped as he was in research and preparations, and like molasses for Cloud, sunken by worry.

               Eventually, they came to the night of the full moon. Sephiroth took a bath in water full of hyssop for cleansing to get ready and then (using what he had had to purchase specifically for this night) put on the all-white outfit required and hung the brass necklace around his throat with the seal of the demon on one side, as both protection and a calling.

               Many places listed Meteor as a major demon, but he was also _the_ most commonly listed demon he could find. He was sure he could handle it.

               After he dressed he went to his spare room, thankfully just big enough, and went to work with the chalk. The protection circle he would have to stand in was complex enough, he was glad the triangle into which the demon would be summoned was simple. Simple, up until the seal, which had to be drawn in the center of the triangle. It was heavily detailed, and Sephiroth was no artist, but he came to what he thought of as a satisfactory result. Per the instructions he had found, he set a black-painted mirror in the center of the seal and began lighting the thirteen black candles that were placed around the room. Only when they were all lit did he finally turn out the lights.

               He stood in the center of the circle, feeling a fool. This whole thing was ridiculous. It certainly _felt_ ridiculous. Maybe he should just stop now.

               But then he remembered the only common advice he had found.

               To truly know a spirit, you have to talk to it.

               He would have to work through it.

               He took out the dagger he had snagged from the armory and held it aloft in his hand.

               “By Earth, Wind, Fire, and Water, I summon you, Meteor.”

               “By Earth, Wind, Fire, and Water, I summon you, Meteor.”

“By Earth, Wind, Fire, and Water, I summon you, Meteor.”

Sephiroth waited in silence for something to happen, staring at the mirror where the demon was supposed to appear. He waited long enough that his arm lowered a little, out of a sense of uncertainty more than it being tired. It lowered a little further. It dropped all the way.

               This was so stupid. What had he been thinking?

               Just in case, he would finish the ritual by banishing the demon, but he was frustrated that he couldn’t summon it to begin with.

               At least he was about to, when he saw movement in the mirror.

               Sephiroth froze in place, staring down at it now. As he watched, a face slowly formed in it. A figure began climbing out of the glass, hands using where it connected to the floor as leverage to pull itself out until eventually, it was standing on the face of the mirror, still as could be.

               The figure was clothed in something complex, made out of black leather with red adornments scattered across it in rubies and garnet and copper. The skin was mottled and gray, as if he had been dunked in ash, all the way down to his bare feet. Long, black hair was pulled back from his face.

               “What did you call me for, child?”

               That rankled. It _distinctly_ rankled, and was something he hadn’t been called since he left the labs. There was a knowing glint to Meteor’s eyes, though, almost as if he knew that and chose the word on purpose.

               But that was impossible, so Sephiroth wrote it off as coincidence.

               “I want to know your true nature.”

               “And what will you give me in exchange?”

               “Your freedom to go back right to where you came from, instead of being stuck in this room until you comply.”

               Meteor tossed his head back and laughed, and it was a strange sound, almost sounding like the pop of wood in flame.

               “You make bold threats, child.”

               “Maybe, but they’re not idle.”

               “You’re lucky I like a little fire. Just be careful it doesn’t burn you, in the end.”

               Sephiroth wasn’t entirely sure what _that_ meant, only that he didn’t like it.

               “Tell me your nature, Meteor.”

               He pulled in a deep, rasping breath. Then he looked at Sephiroth with eyes that, for the first time in his life, pinned him in place. He did not grin, he didn’t bare teeth or sneer or threaten. He just looked.

               “I am fire, from the wildfire to the candle-flame to the hearth. I am what keeps you warm at night. I am what pulls you to find someone to warm your bed. I am wanton destruction.”

               “… So, you’re a fire demon.”

               “… Were you not listening? That’s what I said.”

               “I know. But I also know that there are many fire demons, and that you aren’t telling me much.”

               “I am not _a_ fire demon, I am _the_ fire demon. I am the King of the South, the Lord of Flame. I hold dominion over the Fire, and every demon that has a claim to it is beholden to me.”

               “Much more informative. Is that all?”

               “You asked me for my nature. My nature is that of Flame. I’ve given you all I’m required to.”

               “Very well, then. Goodbye, Meteor.”

               Finally, a curl came to its ashen lips.

               “Goodbye, Sephiroth.”

               He remembered distinctly that he never told him his name.

               But there was nothing to be done for that.

               “By Earth, Wind, Fire, and Water, I banish you, Meteor.”

               He repeated this three times and made a slicing motion with the dagger, and all of a sudden, Meteor vanished. He blew out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He wondered briefly why Meteor had bothered with the dramatics of climbing out of the mirror if he could just vanish, but then again, eternal entities probably got bored enough that they liked a show now and then.

               Sephiroth reached through the circle he was in to turn on the lights. He then reached through the circle at the other end and used the dagger to scratch out the corner of the triangle. That should close the portal behind the demon and leave everything safe. He went around blowing out the candles and then took the prepared bowl of ocean water with hyssop soaking in it and began flicking it around the room to cleanse it. He did this thirteen times in total and then brought the mirror into the bathroom with the remnants of the water, which he poured over the mirror to cleanse that as well. Satisfied with the results, went to his kitchen. He changed the tiny pseudo-fabric pad on the bottom of his broom and then, using the function that shot out cleaning solution in front of it, went around the room cleaning the chalk off the floor. When that was done, he checked the time. He had started at 0300, and it was now 0343. He was sure it hadn’t taken that long, but the clock didn’t lie. He shrugged it off and took off the ridiculous looking white outfit and necklace, setting them aside, before changing into pajama pants, locking up his apartment, and turning in for the night.

               All in all, it seemed a success. He was one step closer to understanding demons, and spirits as a whole. He would catch up to Cloud yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a brief disclaimer that I don't know SHIT about demons. if you do, and you know that a bunch of stuff is off in this, my bad. if you don't, don't take this as a how-to guide, because I did the bare minimum amount of research and took a lot of artistic license. I know WAY more about shamanism than demonology okay kids don't summon demons without doing your research good talk catch y'all later love ya


	7. Chapter 7

               Cloud was anxious the last few days before he called Sephiroth. He knew the entity was there, he knew Sephiroth had to be dealing with it by now. Still, he never called—was he too proud to call, or still unwilling to admit when he had a spirit problem? Either way, between that and the news he got second hand from Aeris about a rash of sudden, unexplained fires occurring around the city, below and above plate, he was plain old tense. If his place got burned down, he’d be beyond out of luck. He tried to get the fires off his mind by worrying about Sephiroth instead.

               Eventually, it hit Thursday the 17th, the day circled on his calendar to call Sephiroth. He picked up the phone and blew out a little breath before dialing.

               “Sephiroth speaking.”

               “Sephiroth, hey; it’s Cloud.”

               “Cloud! Oh, damn, I’m sorry, I meant to call days ago, I just got wrapped up in some research.”

               Some tension released from his shoulders. At least he hadn’t been ignored on purpose.

               “Sure, I understand. We can talk about that in a sec, but real quick, I just wanted to do a follow-up.”

               “Follow-up on what?”

               “The Jenova situation. There hasn’t been any activity since, has there?”

               “Not that I’ve noticed, no.”

               Cloud paused, frowning. He knew the entity was there. Was it still laying low?

               “Right, sure. Good. Call me if you notice anything?”

               “Of course, Cloud.”

               “Right, thanks.”

               “So, are you still interested in that second date?”

               “I am if you are.”

               “I very much am. I’d like to cook for you, if that would work.”

               “At your place?”

               This could be a good or a bad thing. It would be a chance to feel out the apartment, make sure there’s an actual problem and that his reading wasn’t mistaken somehow. But if he was right, he would be stuck in an infested apartment for the evening. Maybe Sephiroth would let him take care of it while he was there.

               “If possible.”

               There was the concern about the cost of the ticket above plate, but he could swing it. Probably. He got a few clients in for divination readings this week, it should be enough to cover it.

               “Sounds good to me. I’d be happy to help you cook.”

               “I appreciate the offer, but I’d like to treat you.”

               Cloud’s face flushed. His mother wolf-whistled.

               “Sure, I’d like that. When will you be free? I don’t want to interrupt your research.”

               “Nonsense, I’ll make time; it’s nothing pressing. Are you free this weekend?”

               “I am. Saturday?”

               “Saturday will work. Around seven?”

               “Perfect. I’m looking forward to it.”

               “I am as well.”

               “Good luck on your research!”

               Sephiroth chuckled, the sound warm. It ran a shiver down Cloud’s spine that he would deny until the day he died.

               “Thank you, Cloud.”

               “I’ll see you soon.”

               “Goodbye.”

               He hung up the call and had to fight the grin threatening to spread on his face.

               _You can smile, you know. We all know you’re excited._

               “Shut up, Mama,” he said, but he let himself smile anyway.

               Still, once the initial rush passed, he found he left the conversation more concerned than he had entered it. There was a spirit in Sephiroth’s home, or for the first time, the spirits steered him wrong. He wasn’t very inclined to believe the latter. So that left something laying low in his apartment, something burying in like a seed, growing, likely feeding off his energy. It was like Jenova all over again, but worse. This one likely wouldn’t act out if it hadn’t already. No, it would feed and feed and feed until there was nothing left and Sephiroth went to an early grave.

               He couldn’t let it happen.

               He did, however, end up slightly distracted. Midgar rarely came to him unannounced, but he decided to pay a visit. He appeared as he ever did—dark hair, darker suit—when Cloud was sitting in his shop.

               “We have a problem,” Midgar announced.

               Cloud looked up at him expectantly.

               “What is it?”

               “The fires. They’re spirit-caused.”

               Cloud’s brow wrinkled.

               “Spirits aren’t typical culprits of fires. You’re sure?”

               Midgar looked distinctly unimpressed.

               “Of course I’m sure. Whoever they are, they move quick; I’ve had a hard time pinning them down. They leave the second the fire catches. But we need to solve this quick, before the whole city goes up in smoke.”

               Cloud sighed. He ran a hand through his hair.

               “I’m a shaman, not a detective, Midgar. If you can point me at the spirit, you know I’m happy to take care of it, but I really doubt I’m just gonna stumble upon the cause.”

               “Keep your eyes and ears out anyway. I’ll try to find them, but I could use your help.”

               “I’ll talk to the others, see if anyone knows anything. I’ll ask Aeris too, see if her spirits know anything. But there’s not much I can do beyond that.”

               “It’s a start. Thank you, Cloud.”

               “Of course—anything I can do to help.”

               Without another word, Midgar vanished. Cloud sighed and went back to his worrying.

               He counted down the days to the date much more anxiously than Sephiroth did, but Sephiroth did have some nerves about it, which was surprising in his own right. He kept his head buried in his research until the day of, but his stomach tended to twist just so, making his days uncomfortable. For one of the few times in his life, he was truly concerned with impressing.

               The day of he cleaned his already immaculate apartment and started cooking far in advance. He was making a salt-baked fish, taking advantage of the nearness of the ocean, and a mushroom risotto. It took everything in him not to start to early, and he only managed to wait out of fear of the food being cold by the time Cloud arrived.

               Cloud, who spent the morning fussing over what to wear, much as he had before his first date. He envied Sephiroth and his uniform; he never had to worry about this. He somehow found the time to worry about whether or not he should bring his supplies with him for the same reason he didn’t call the day the entity arrived. It would go over poorly if Sephiroth knew he was keeping tabs on things, even if it was loosely done. At the same time, he wanted to be able to take care of it when he got there. He eventually decided against it.

               But, what he did do, was spend the entire train ride above plate _and_ the walk to Shinra Tower reconsidering his position. It was only when he was standing in front of Linda, the secretary at the front desk, that it was too late.

               “I’m telling you, I’m here to meet with Sephiroth.”

               “And I’m telling you, that without a formal appointment, I can’t let you up.”

               “You know what? Fine.”

               Cloud pulled out his PHS and dialed for Sephiroth. Linda looked unimpressed as he waited for it to ring. He stared her down as he waited for Sephiroth to pick up.

               “Sephiroth speaking.”

               “Sephiroth, hi. I’m at the front desk, they won’t let me up.”

               “I shouldn’t be surprised. Pass the PHS over, please.”

               Cloud held the PHS out with a raised eyebrow. Linda looked suspicious as she took it.

               “Hello, this is Linda. Oh. Yes, I see. Of course. I apologize, but you’re aware of protocol. Yes. Right. I’ll send him up.”

               _Don’t look smug, it’s unbecoming_ , his mother chided.

               Linda handed him back his PHS and fished around in her desk before handing him over what was labeled “Exempt Visitor’s Badge.”

               “There. No one should bother you on your way up. If someone tries to tell you you’re on too high a floor for a visitor, tell them to read the badge more closely, or to call down here.”

               “Thank you,” Cloud paused, visibly squinting down at her nametag, though he knew her name well enough, “Linda.”

               _I raised you better than to be this petty_.

               “You’re welcome, sir,” Linda said, fighting to keep her face neutral. Cloud clipped the badge to his shirt and walked around the desk. His mother helped him remember the way to the elevator and he certainly remembered that it was the top floor, but he couldn’t for the life of him remember the room number. He ended up quickly grabbing the attention of the spirit of the Tower and asking for directions, only to be led to the correct door. He said his thank yous and goodbyes, the spirit flitting off on its own business again. He knocked on the door.

               It took a few second before the door swung open. Cloud blinked in surprise at the sight of Sephiroth not in his leathers, but instead in a white button down, sleeves rolled and pushed up his forearms, tucked into a pair of dark jeans that were in turn tucked into a pair of low-cut black boots.

               Sephiroth greeted him with a surprisingly warm smile, stepping back out of the way with the door in one hand.

               “Cloud, please, come in.”

               “Thank you,” he said, stepping inside.

               He couldn’t help but look around and let out a low whistle. The place was immaculate, but also well decorated. The walls were white but hung with tasteful paintings and art prints. The sofa and chair were plush and made out of, what was apparently Sephiroth’s standard, black leather. The wooden furniture was stained either black or so dark that it might as well have been, and his large flatscreen was mounted on the wall. It was largely missing personal touches, saving a single photo of Sephiroth and a dark-haired man framed and hanging on the wall next to an unnecessarily large mounted blade.

               “They didn’t spare an expense when furnishing this place, did they,” Cloud said, a hint of surprised laughter in his voice.

               When he looked over, Sephiroth looked almost sheepish.

               “One of the perks of rank, I suppose.”

               “It’s beautiful, Sephiroth. Do you like it?”

               Sephiroth found that in that moment, for the first time, he did.

               But still, he shrugged and said, “It’s home.”

               Cloud did laugh outright at that.

               “I didn’t even really notice last time I was here, I was a little… distracted…”

               The pleasantness of the atmosphere didn’t disappear so much as fade away. He didn’t notice it at first, the way the tension built, until now that he was reminded to look for it and felt the way he was taut as a bowstring. Whatever was here, it was insidious. It was quiet, but it was there, in the worst way possible. Whatever found its way into Sephiroth’s home, it was _bad_.

               “… Cloud?”

               “Hey, are you sure nothing’s been happening around here?”

               Sephiroth narrowed his eyes and watched Cloud closely. He could see how tense he was, the way his eyes now skittered around the room, looking for something and not finding it. He frowned.

               “Nothing’s been happening, no. Why, do you feel something here?”

               “I do. It’s not something obvious, the way most spirits, especially ghosts, are. It’s something you’d only notice if you’d already seen something similar and knew what to look for. Whatever it is, it’s powerful, Sephiroth. I wish I had my supplies with me.”

               Cloud cursed himself quietly for the decision he made.

               Sephiroth did the same.

               He had been certain Meteor had left when dismissed. Had he really been lingering this whole time?

               “Is it something you could take care of?”

               Cloud rubbed the back of his neck, still distracted from Sephiroth, trying to feel out the spirit. Something about it had a familiar flavor, if not something he’d seen in a while.

               _You don’t think this is the spirit Midgar is looking for, do you?_ his mother asked.

               Cloud pulled a deep breath in through his nose. Faintly, ever-so faintly, he could smell wood-smoke.

               “Ah, shit,” Cloud whispered, not even aware of what Sephiroth had asked him. “I’m sorry, Sephiroth. It looks like you got wrapped up in something big.”

               “What does that mean?” Sephiroth asked, even though he was sure he knew what it meant. It meant that his summoning had gone wrong.

               Cloud finally tore his attention away from the apartment and looked back at Sephiroth, feeling almost guilty at the sight of the pinch between his eyebrows.

               “You know those fires that have been popping up around the city?” Cloud waited for him to nod before continuing, “They’re spirit-invoked. Midgar came to me a few days ago, asked me to look into it. I told him there wasn’t much to be done about it, but he wanted me to try anyway, just in case. It looks like whatever the spirit is, it’s taken up residence in your home. I’m sorry, Sephiroth, it must have come in through the same portal as Jenova. I thought I closed it better than that.”

               Sephiroth had been considering not disclosing to Cloud what he’d done. Selfishly, he was concerned with what Cloud thought of him. He didn’t want to look a fool, who’d gotten in over his head and couldn’t handle what he was working with (which apparently he was). But that comment sealed it for him. He couldn’t let Cloud’s conscience be clouded over his incompetence.

               “Cloud, do you remember when I said I was doing research?”

               Cloud looked up at him, confused.

               “I do.”

               “I was researching spirits.”

               Cloud got an inkling of where this was going, but hoped he was wrong.

               “Why?”

               “Because suddenly, there’s a whole world of things that I don’t understand, and I dislike the feeling. I wanted to learn, so I began researching.”

               “There’s nothing wrong with curiosity, Sephiroth.”

               “There is when you misuse it. Everything I found, Cloud, said that the only way to understand spirits was to meet them.”

               Cloud got a sinking feeling in his stomach.

               “Who did you summon, Sephiroth?”

               Sephiroth wasn’t sure if he was glad or not that Cloud guessed and he didn’t have to actually say it.

               “A demon named Meteor.”

               Cloud groaned and let his head drop back.

               “Not Meteor.”

               “Have you come across him before?”

               “Once. It was damn near impossible to get rid of him.”

               Sephiroth had to fight back the wince.

               “I apologize, Cloud. I thought I had it handled.”

               Cloud turned to look back at him, not disappointed or angry, just confused.

               “Why didn’t you call me? I could have helped.”

               “I… well, I didn’t want to bother you with it.”

               “Why? You know I’m rarely busy.”

               “It felt like a novice summoning was below you.”

               A laugh escaped Cloud before he could stop it.

               “Summoning Meteor isn’t what anyone would call ‘novice.’”

               “It seemed like a good idea at the time. He is the most commonly listed demon.”

               “Yeah, because he’s an extremely powerful menace, Sephiroth.”

               “… I failed to consider that.”

               “I’m getting that. But listen, we’ll handle this. Let’s have dinner, I’ll come back whenever you’re free next and handle this. If you want, I can teach you about spirits.”

               “You don’t have to do that, Cloud.”

               “Sephiroth, you’re curious, and I’m bored. A lot. Besides, teaching about the spirits is something I’ll have to do sooner or later anyway; it can’t hurt to practice.”

               “Who will you have to teach?”

               Cloud sighed and scratched at his head.

               “I have to have a… heir, I guess. I have to teach someone for the next generation. My family made a deal with Odin years ago. He agreed to make us shamans as long as we continued our line and the next generation was always trained.”

               “Doesn’t that imply that you have to have a child?”

               Cloud waved his hand dismissively.

               “I’ve already talked about it. Everyone knows I’m gay—have you seen me? It doesn’t have to be my child.”

               Sephiroth snorted a laugh at his question, but stifled it quickly, though Cloud smiled at it anyway. He nodded.

               “I’m glad they’re willing to work with you.”

               “Me too. The last thing I want is my own kid.”

               “Because of the… process?”

               Cloud laughed this time, louder than Sephiroth had. When he spoke, it was with a smile.

               “Yeah, Sephiroth. Because of the process.”

               If Sephiroth were anyone else, he would have blushed.

               “Well, at least you’ll be able to avoid it.”

               “Thank the gods for… that… Sephiroth, did you leave the stove on?” Cloud asked, peeking around the edge of Sephiroth’s shoulder.

               Sephiroth, who turned and looked behind him at the small fire starting to catch on his wooden cabinets.

               He rushed forward and grabbed a large bowl out of the drying rack, filled it with water, and drenched the fire until it went out. When he turned back around with a sigh of relief, it was to see Cloud looking strangely guilty.

               “I think that’s my cue.”

               “For what?”

               “That was Meteor, almost definitely. I don’t think he likes me being here, and I don’t want to burn down your apartment.”

               “It will be fine, Cloud; you don’t have to leave.”

               “What if the fire starts in another room next time? He’s not above a little wanton destruction.”

               “I… guess you have a point,” Sephiroth admitted, shoulders slumping just a hair.

               “Are you free tomorrow?”

               Sephiroth stood up a little straighter again.

               “In the evening, yes.”

               “Can I come back then? I’ll bring my things, we’ll take care of this, and then we can have dinner. Does that sound okay?”

               “That sounds wonderful. I promise not to summon anything else in the meantime.”

               Cloud laughed again, the sound just as bright. He laid his hand on Sephiroth’s arm.

               “Good to hear.”

               Lightning fast, Cloud stood up on his toes to press a quick kiss to Sephiroth’s lips. The man still looked surprised when Cloud turned away, making his way toward the door. But it was quick and simple to grab his wrist, to turn him back and cup his face and kiss him long and slow and sweet. When they pulled away, Cloud was flushed and they were both breathless.

               “I’ll see you tomorrow?” Cloud asked between pants.

               “Tomorrow,” Sephiroth agreed, letting Cloud go and taking a step back.

               Cloud looked reluctant, like he wanted to do or say something else, but eventually shook his head and turned for the door.

               He paused in the doorway, gave Sephiroth a small smile and a smaller wave, then ducked through the door.

               Sephiroth sighed and ran a hand through his hair, staring at the door. Then he turned his head to look at his now-charred cabinet. He glanced around the apartment, but try as he might, he couldn’t sense Meteor lingering. He knew he was there, but he couldn’t feel it.

               Considering his situation, he said, sighing and heartfelt, “Shit.”

               Strangely enough, he could have sworn he heart a laugh after.


End file.
